I Miss The Old Me Novels & Stories

For some reason, I thought I was alone, but I had a mother who always chose me whatever happened. I immediately wrapped my arms around her waist, burying my face on her stomach. In a second, she lay down on the bed with me and pulled me up until I buried my face on her chest. “I didn't know your father picked you up. Did he scold you?” “I miss you, Mom.” She chuckled at my words. “What do you mean? We just met the other day.” I miss the old me in the past. I miss the feeling of not troubling myself about a man

Even my friends had noticed it. I pretend to be dumbfounded and ask, "What is it?" He closes his eyes for a moment and says, "I've always admired the way you treat people especially because you've been so nice to me even though I have done something wrong to you. It was your good heart that made me want you to become mine. I love the way you laugh when I make a joke and I definitely miss the way how we used to be. What I want to say is I love you, Taylor."

I pulled a stop on it so why would I feel like this. But, honestly. It made me muss those days. It doesn't feel like I'm suit to be a normal guy with a normal life. I miss pulling pranks. I miss strolling late at night. I miss going to cafe's at midnights Those trouble I have been. I miss having it even though I would always end up being at the hospital. And the interesting part is. All of those was connected to her. It was a fool of me. I thought It would be back on the way it was but distancing myself was awful.

he replied sheepishly. A slow smile comes across my lips, “Accepting you are an idiot is pretty easy,” I replied nudging his shoulder with mine. It quickly felt like old times, and I had missed those times. I missed being me. The me today was so far removed from who I was a short time ago. Could I give him another chance? Did he deserve it? Did I deserve it?

I looked too, with a wave of sadness flooding over me. “I know, Anne, I miss him all the time too. Sometimes I pretend he's still here, drinking coffee or reading his stupid books." “No, you don't understand," Anne said, slurring her words, "I mean, I miss him too, but I mean I miss YOU. The way you were, before all this shit happened." Anne sighed and pointed around the room, not focusing on anything specific. I remained silent. Anne knew that I didn't like it when people talked about how I used to be. Simply because things would never go back to the way they were, including me, there was no point in dwelling on that, it was easier to accept and go on with what I had.

She complained about her sore muscles, and I teased her for being competitive even when she claimed she wasn’t. By evening, we were back on the couch, legs tangled, the TV on but ignored. “Do you ever miss it?” I asked suddenly. She glanced at me. “Miss what?” “The way things were before,” I clarified. “Before everything became… us.” She considered it. “No,” she said honestly. “I miss familiarity sometimes. But I don’t miss who I was when I was playing safe.” That resonated deeply. I rested my head against her shoulder. “I think I was surviving before. Now I’m building something.”

I wondered whether anyone ever does. And still, the old ache tightened. Emily, in a shop with Maya, choosing the curve of an A, the flourish on a G, the shine of wax, the promise in a seal. I pictured her head bent in consultation, eyes bright, the quiet power of competence humming around her. I missed her. I missed the version of myself that stood beside her when the world still believed in us. I hated that I missed it. I hated the treachery of nostalgia, the way it paints ruins with gold. Maya touched my wrist. “Tell me something true,” she said, playful and serious, queen and confessor.

“I know he does.” “But that’s not the same as showing up.” “No,” I agreed. “It’s not.” I exhaled, deep and shaky. “I think the part that hurts most is that I still miss him. Even now. Even here. Even when I’m laughing. Even when Dean is everything he wasn’t.” “Fallon,” Mia said gently, “missing someone who made you feel alive doesn’t make you weak. But staying stuck in what could’ve been—that’s how you forget who you are.”

I'm just 32; I can't be that old. Ten years ago, I was so ecstatic to get married, not knowing it would be the very thing that would make me lose my spark and forget who I used to be. I'm now looking older than my age, my face worn, my body so lean that I look like I could be blown away by the wind. The hollows in my neck were enough to draw attention everywhere I went, and yet I covered them up every day, putting on a smile bigger than the world while I slowly died inside.

Regrets and shame filled me to the brim, suffocating me. The short brunette lingered by my side, scrutinizing my meticulous cleaning of each tile. "If you can learn to hold that tongue, you might have a chance of joining their pack." "I have no desire to be a part of the North." "You honestly miss the South?" She chuckled at me like I was pathetic. "No, I don't." I spoke with a sigh, not wanting to engage in conversation anymore with this woman. I missed my old life, the one that I knew was a lie. I couldn't be so pathetic as to want to be ignorant again, but I couldn't deny that I was happy. Back then, I thought I had a loving husband, and Athena was strong inside me.